by BA Tortuga
Such surety.
“Are you done now? He’s hungry and tired.”
“I’m done for now. Don’t plan on making a run for it, though, Red. This ain’t over.”
No. No, the big redneck was very much correct. Damn it.
“Don’t threaten me. I’m not going to let anyone hurt him. Never again.”
It broke Neil’s heart to see the violence and fury in Paddy’s eyes.
“He’s not threatening, love.” He took Paddy’s hand. “He’s just stating fact. Soon, though. Soon this will all be just an old nightmare.”
Paddy’s fingers gripped his. “I hope so.”
Tired.
His lover was so very tired.
“If I see more, I’ll let you know. We need to rest some now, while I can.” Who could tell when Manning would make his last effort of contact?
Sonny nodded and, thankfully, just left.
“I love you.” Neil leaned against Paddy, letting the too-thin body support him.
“I love you. You want some food?”
“No. But I ought to have some.”
“I’ll make you tea and eggs and stuff.”
“Oh, thank you, sweet.” Neil held Paddy when he would have left. “Help me up, and I’ll walk with you.” I need my strength was what he added in his head.
“Be careful of the glass.” Paddy’s fingers brushed his hair.
“I will.” Somewhere, he had slippers. Or was that in another life?
“I’ll find them.” Paddy headed to the closet.
“Thank you.” Hopefully he had enough of a shield left to hide the hurt he felt when he watched Paddy move. His sweet love looked like an old man.
Those green eyes flashed back at him. “One day this will all be over, right?”
“Yes.” He had faith in that. He truly did. That was why he had not simply killed everyone.
“Okay.” Paddy grabbed his sandals. “Let’s get you some food. It’ll be tomorrow soon.”
“What is the saying, love? ‘Tomorrow is another day.’”
“You make a bad Scarlett, though.” There was his laugh.
“I do. Though she was a Brit too.” Maybe he needed a petticoat.
No skirts. The happy thought echoed in him.
That was so much better. So much. He suddenly wanted bacon and eggs and pancakes.
“We could go into town. There are casinos. They serve breakfast all night.”
“I would have to bathe….” The energy from Paddy was so hopeful, though. “Take me to the bath, then.”
That thought actually earned him a grin—internal and visible both. “I could get you all clean.”
“You could.” The wounds were mostly healed by now, at least on the outside. He had worried, at the beginning, that Paddy would find him horrifying.
Now he knew better. His Padraic’s mind painted him in amazing colors.
He did love this man. Enough to leave the relatively safe haven of the condo.
And his man loved him.
Chapter Seven
HIS FUCKING head hurt.
Too much tequila and too much cheap fucking beer and too much… whatever the fuck that meat was.
Jaime rubbed the back of his neck, rolled his shoulders, and tried to figure out where to go next. Reynosa, Guerrero, Palmas. He’d hit them all, all with the intention of sitting and staying, but as soon as he did, something started insisting it was time to move.
Again.
He’d woken up with it this afternoon, that go-go-go buzzing under his brain.
So now, instead of fucking hanging out in this “not too terribly clean but at least mostly bug-free” place, he was packed and walking again, trying to make some damned decision about which way to go.
The streets were quiet, dusty, and people mostly stayed out of his way. The few that tried to beg some pocket change off him were rebuffed easily with a barked, “Vaya!”
Which was why the big guy following him was standing out like a sore thumb.
The big, bald gringo who wasn’t even trying to hide. Jaime slid his hand back, checking his weapon. Right where it belonged.
The guy had to be, what? Six foot and some change, but that wasn’t the end of it. The man was wide. Solid. Hands like Christmas hams.
It was kinda hot, really.
He sidestepped around some mamacitas and into an alley. He really didn’t want to shoot anyone today.
The shadow that filled the mouth of the alley wasn’t any Mexican he’d ever seen. Bastard just kept coming too, pulling the dark shades off but leaving the ball cap on.
“Qué quieres?” He snarled the words, left hand sliding back, nice and steady.
“For you not to reach for that gun, for one thing.” The English was American, slow and steady, a deep drawl twisting the thing into thaang.
“No habla.” He’d see if tall, dark, and fuckable bought it.
A soft snort told him the answer was no. “You speak English, Spanish, French, and Russian, man. Don’t try to play me.”
Okay. Okay. Fuck. He found the grip of the Glock, wrapped his fingers around it. “What do you want?”
“Well, now. That’s a loaded question.” A smile slid across the tanned face, white teeth and dark eyes making a nice contrast. “Have a drink with me.”
Huh. That was unexpected.
“Why?” Shit, did this guy know him? Could he speak French? How the hell would he know if he did? There weren’t many fucking French-speaking people here to tell him if it was gibberish.
“Because I like the way your Glock makes your ass look, P—man.”
He did like a man who knew his weapons. Still….
“Lead the way.”
“That’s okay. I’d rather not have you behind me. How about we agree to kind of go together?”
Smart man.
Hopefully not too smart.
“Are you suggesting I’d molest you?” Because that would be acceptable. A little molestation, a quick beating to find out some information, possibly leading to a nice blowjob.
“Only if you mean it in the fun, spanky way. Problem with you is that you get all grumpy and try to cut parts off.” The guy held up his right hand, where a wicked scar bisected the line between thumb and palm.
Okay. Okay. Wait. “You got the wrong guy, vato. I don’t know you.” There’s no way he’d forget that ass.
“You sure about that?” Those dark eyes twinkled at him before the man slipped the sunglasses on. “Tequila?”
“Sure.” That little niggling voice in the back of his head was having a psychotic break with reality. Either that or the whole shoulder angel and devil thing was real, and they were about to have a knock-down, drag-out war. But then, when you had one voice saying “kill him and run” and another voice saying “kidnap him and fuck him bloody,” which one was the devil?
They hit one of the many dive bars on the little strip, one that was dark and sticky and smelled like beer and piss. Lovely. “Dos tequila,” the guy said, and the accent made the bartender laugh.
He sat, eyes on Mr. Muscles. He needed a plan. Really. One beyond “freak out and run around in circles hooting like a monkey.” Jesus, that man had fascinating hands, despite the scar.
They got their drinks, and the guy nodded toward a table at the back. “Come on. You got a name, amigo?”
“Jaime. You, Gringo?” So, maybe the guy didn’t know him. Shit. This would be way fucking easier if he could remember anything but the last fucking month and a half.
“Sonny. Just call me Sonny.” Some kind of strong emotion twisted that pretty mouth, something that didn’t make “Sonny” happy.
“Sonny—like the song, huh? ‘You Are My Sunshine’?” He hummed the tune, trying to figure out why he knew that.
That big body all but vibrated, the man going all tight and puffy. “Something like that, yeah. I…. You.” Sonny paused, took a deep breath. Drank his tequila in a single gulp, without shuddering. “How do you feel about going somewhere
and fucking like bunnies?”
He sipped his tequila slower, taking time to give tall, dark, and hot as fuck another once-over. “You got a place?”
He didn’t, not that he’d take anyone there if he did.
“I’ve got some cash.” That grin flashed again, lines springing up beside that obscenely pretty mouth. “We can find someplace cheap and quiet.”
“Okay, Gringo.” He stood, stretched, looked around. Jesus, there were a lot of Anglos here.
Too many.
“Let’s go.”
Now.
“Yeah.” Big and tall popped up too, pulling the ball cap down. He’d look better in a cowboy hat. Where that had come from, he had no idea, but there it was.
He licked his lips, nostrils flaring as he caught a scent of something good, something he liked.
Jaime headed out, catching sight of a man in a button-down and a Stetson with a face like a craggy mountain. Pretty. Not as fuckable as this one, but nice.
Hot.
Dangerous.
“Pay attention, P—man.” Sonny tapped his arm. “You’re with me, huh?”
“Yeah, vato. You’re way more lickable. That hombre, he’s fine, but you….” He shrugged. “You got something I want.”
Need.
No.
Want.
Focus.
“Good.” There was a wealth of satisfaction that he didn’t want to contemplate there. They made their way across the square, back behind the little church, to a place that had a sign in the window. “Cuartos.”
Yeah. Rooms for rent. It was clean but not too clean, and the sleepy mamacita at the door was mostly deaf. Excellent.
He checked his back, checked the windows, the little voice muttering again, worrying.
This was a stupid idea.
Ridiculous.
Unsafe.
Money changed hands, and the big guy led him to the room by the back door. Good deal. The door to the room had a rudimentary lock, and the sheets looked clean.
They’d have to hit the bed sideways, though. This guy was way too long.
They stared at each other for a second longer, and that little voice inside him was screaming now. Screaming, and he didn’t run.
Big hands fell on his upper arms, grabbing him in a bruising grip, and he slammed into that big body. Sonny’s mouth came down on his, and it was as tasty as it was pretty.
His cock went diamond-hard, his hips rocking in time with the tongue fucking his lips. Yeah. Yeah, baby.
The scared voice in his head just died from pure, orgasmic, motherfucking joy.
Boom.
Boom…. Wait. He….
The thought scattered as Gringo bent him backward, took him harder.
Who the fuck cared?
One heavy thigh pushed up between his, lifting his toes off the floor, and those hands held him there like he weighed less than a feather. Bastard was strong. Big and strong and beautiful.
His fingers slid over the bare hint of stubble on the man’s scalp. He needed a shave.
A deep bass rumble answered his touch, and the kiss went nuclear. Like meltdown hot. He might never breathe again.
He wasn’t sure he fucking cared.
He tore at the guy’s shirt, needing skin, right now. Right fucking now. Jesus. Better than chocolate. And somehow he knew that he loved chocolate enough to fight for it.
One hand slid down to cup his ass, holding him up. The other started tugging at his clothes in return, getting him bare.
“So fucking strong….” He grunted as that hand squeezed his ass hard, and he mashed their mouths together.
The room spun a little, and his back landed against the bed, making him grunt. Holding him down with one hand on his chest, the big guy touched him all over with the other, tracing his tattoos.
Fuck, he’d never… well, he couldn’t remember ever feeling like this. He spread wide, letting big, dark, and heated have at it.
“Fuck. Oh, fuck, look at that.” Growly too. Bending, the big guy licked at his skin, moving over his tats with a hot tongue.
His hips started bucking, moving restlessly, and he grabbed his cock, jacking himself nice and steady, giving Sonny a show.
A low chuckle slid over his skin. “Pretty.”
“Thanks. You’re very much not bad.” Should he have said that in Spanish?
“You think?” Those eyes all but burned a hole in him for a moment. Then Sonny went back to his skin, licking at the tat just at the base of his cock.
“Mmm-hmm.” They still looked weird, his pubes, but they’d been blond, and somebody might have noticed.
Of course, no one ever told a man that those didn’t dye so well.
“This has to go.” Sonny plucked at his short and curlies, making this weirdassed noise. “It ain’t right.”
“They belong there.” Weirdo.
“They’re the wrong color.” He was about to argue when that mouth dropped over his cock and he went to a place way too damned happy to worry.
Everything went white-hot and wonderful. He had his hands on the bald head, hips fucking lips that knew exactly what he needed, how he needed it.
The stubbly chin pressed against his balls, that mouth pulling and pulling, demanding his attention. Now. Right now.
He shot hard, screaming nonsense as he shorted out.
Sonny held his hips, letting him rock and roll, making these amazing noises. The man swallowed it all down.
He floated there, stupid with it, just for a minute.
Then Sonny was humping his leg, eyes meeting his, hot and a lot desperate. Those swollen lips formed syllables that made no sense, but it worked.
“C’mere. I’m not selfish.” At least he didn’t think he was. He tugged, wanting to feel that cock in his hand.
“No. No, you’re not.” The grin was wild, the humping wilder. He got a hold of the thick, heavy prick, and the big guy went to town.
He held on, hand working hard. His tongue slid over the acres and acres of sweat-slick skin. Fuck. Fuck, yes. So fine.
“More. Harder. Jesus.” Sonny bit his lip hard, hard enough that the smell of blood was strong all of a sudden.
He snarled, fisting the hard cock, giving Sonny everything he had.
That big body rocked and rolled, muscles flexing, showing off for him. That cock. Jesus. He could probably write odes to it.
“Look at you. Fuck. Fuck.” He licked his lips, pulling harder, his own cock threatening to come back to life.
“Anything you want, man. Anything.” Pushing back and forth between his hand and the bed, Sonny gave him everything, balls swinging, breath panting in the wide chest.
He groaned, then swooped down, took that fat cock between his lips and pulled, hard.
“Oh, Christ.” Long fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, pulling him up and down.
Yeah. Yeah, come on, Sunshine. Want you. He reached down, rolled the heavy balls.
“Fuck! Oh, Jesus fuck!” The man came for him, salty and bitter, delivering on the promise that fuzzy, muscled body and thick cock had given.
He knew that taste.
Jaime groaned, stilled, even as he swallowed.
He knew that.
What the fuck?
“Mmm. God, Precious, I needed that. Time to sleep.” A tiny prick at the side of his neck was all the warning he got before things went fuzzy as hell. Shit. Shit.
He dragged his head up, tried to see. “Wha….”
His piece. He needed his….
“Sonny.”
OH GOD. Oh God.
MJ had said his name.
Oh, the little fucker looked like a Mexican. Even his goddamned pubes were black. That was wrong, and if Sonny’d had time right now, he’d shave them off.
Too bad he didn’t have time. MJ would only be out about twenty minutes on the dose Sonny had given him, which was just long enough to seem like a tequila-induced nap.
He went to the back window and let Cowboy in. “Did you bring the kit?�
��
“Yeah.” Cowboy ducked in, hat hiding his eyes. “Smells like a male cat sprayed in here, Redneck.”
He was going to beat the son of a bitch to death. “You’re just jealous.”
“Nah, that’ll be you when he comes on to me. Hooboy, that… look ain’t a good one for him.”
“Yeah.” He tilted his head, taking in the greasy black hair and the weirdly olive skin dye. “He’s not cut out to be a migrant worker, is he?”
“No.” Cowboy clapped him on the shoulder, eyes looking over MJ, counting new bruises and scrapes, new scars, just like he had. “You’ll fix him. You find the new tracer?”
“Yeah. It’s in the other leg. Tiny, but still fresh enough to find.” He spread MJ’s leg, pulling the sheet over the good bits.
“Good deal. Pop that bitch out. I don’t want them chasing him no more.”
“You don’t?” If that crispy bastard Greg was still alive, Sonny was going to make him pay. With body parts. “Gimme the gauze.”
“Yep.” The gauze was handed over; then Cowboy started looking MJ over—hairline and jaw, under the arms, in his mouth.
It made Sonny want to growl, but he understood. He didn’t have time to do it all himself. He went to work on the groin, glad they hadn’t disturbed the ink.
“They…. There’s a… gimme the tweezers.”
“What?” There was a what? He handed over the tweezers, though.
Cowboy opened MJ’s mouth, started digging.
Oh, jeez. Sonny set his jaw and went back to making the chip come out and not leave a huge, gaping hole. He had to make it look like a love bite.
“It was in the roof of his mouth, Redneck. What are these sick fucks? Did they do this to Duncan? Rick?”
Cowboy was waving a little piece of metal around.
“They did. I swear, Cowboy, I will make them pay.” He got the other bit out, turning MJ over to check his back. The tat he’d put on that fine shoulder was right there. Unmarked.
Thank God.
“Check everywhere.” Cowboy looked fucking affronted.
“I will. You keep your eyes above the waist.” He knew MJ’s body better than anyone. He would see it.
“I’m not going to bogart your fuck buddy. At least not until he’s awake and Duncan’s watching.”
